


The Colours Disappear

by Highsmith (quimtessence)



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Biting, Canon Queer Character of Color, Canon Queer Relationship, Comfort Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Intercrural Sex, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Marking, Porn with Feelings, Post-Movie: The Old Guard (2020), Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:00:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26782540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quimtessence/pseuds/Highsmith
Summary: He says in a voice like sticky gravel crunching underfoot, "He threw me into the shelves, but I saw him hurt you." His teeth are still grit. His jaw must be hurting. Possibly in an unconscious gesture, he raises his right hand to press to his own neck, along his throat. A long moment later, he startles at his own touch, eyes widening, mouth finally slackening. His body doesn't so much crumple as entwine around itself, muscles bunching up beneath his clothes.Joe doesn't say,I watched him blow you apart,because that's not the point.Instead, he mutters, "He's gone." And he means,he doesn't matter, you matter.Selfishly, he knows that's all that's ever mattered.Or, Nicky is still dealing with Keane hurting Joe.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 45
Kudos: 406





	The Colours Disappear

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a Tumblr post I cannot find for the life of me. *shrug*
> 
> Title from "Yellow Flicker Beat" by Lorde.

They take the ferry from Portsmouth to Le Havre while slushy rain pounds against the windows of the cabin, everything damp, everything oh so slightly sunken. Upon boarding, Nile messages Copley to book them into a nice hotel for Andy's sake, receiving a link with their reservations on the hotel's website within minutes, and Joe can't say he minds either the indoor pool or the large, floor-length windows overlooking the harbour.

"Nice place," he mutters underneath his breath, mouth close enough to Nicky's ear for him to hear as Nile shows them pictures on her phone, shoulders knocking into each other with the ferry's movement, Nicky's shrug and faint hum of acknowledgement almost lost on a particularly harsh wave.

By the time they reach land, the rain's halted, although the sky remains overcast. The particular quiet hovering among the four of them as they crossed The Channel follows all the way to checking in and watching Andy and Nile leave the lift a floor below theirs with goodnight waves and tired smiles. It's late afternoon, but Joe is hardly the only one who must be feeling the bone-deep exhaustion of eight hours swaying on water capping off everything that happened with Merrick and the rest.

Once they're alone, he leans over, stepping in front of Nicky, to press their floor number again, and, as he steps back, out of the corner of his eye he watches as Nicky tracks his movements, or, in particular, tracks his body as it moves, eyes glued just below his chin. Joe watches the lift doors close, their distorted reflections coming together in the middle. Counts the seconds to their floor.

The corridor emanates absolute silence, the ceiling low, their steps muffled by the carpeting. The key card blinks green on the first try, a teeny click accompanying it, breaking the tension momentarily. Joe blinks once at the sound.

With Nicky silently at his back, the door handle smooth metal beneath his palm, he feels electricity uncoiling somewhere in his midsection, a feeble spark gaining momentum. Sinks his heels into the carpeting for a brief moment, as if to ground himself against whatever thunderstorm is brewing inside him. He then swings the door back and steps forward, but the room which greets him is pleasantly plain. Facing them head-on, the windows are just as large as advertised.

His low, black, dusty boots leave dents behind him. Straight away, his fingers itch to unzip and unlace, and discard them by the door, and with them the utter shit the last days—or weeks perhaps, he can hardly tell anymore—have been.

He does. Balances awkwardly as he unfastens, then kicks his boots off, allowing them to lie wherever they happen to fall.

His own travel bag Nicky discards in a corner behind the door while Joe lets his rucksack straps fall off his shoulders, the weight pulling them down, a muffled thud hitting the floor at his heels. As he lets it drop and toes it aside, out of the corner of his eye he sees Nicky moving around, clearing the bathroom, the bedroom—with particular emphasis on the underside of the bed—even the closet. It's quick and efficient, the sharp way Nicky always does these things. Meanwhile, Joe relishes in the relief of socked feet finally freed, the simplicity of it indescribable. He wiggles his toes as he watches Nicky stride over to remove his own shoes.

Honestly, he is looking forward to hours upon hours of further relief. A hot shower, scalding perhaps. Hotel food on a tray. To sleep compactly curled into a ball, Nicky a comfortable knife at his back, his body always running too hot as if meant to heat up Joe's constantly chilled one.

However, lingering by his side still, Nicky must watch him take his jacket off and hang it up, unmoving, a steady presence, and even as Joe turns to him, he continues hovering. His mouth is slightly open, and Joe watches him close it, lips curling and jaw shifting, staring at Joe silently, the air between them charging.

"Nicolo?"

Swallowing heavily, Nicky blinks, jaw clenching.

Joe exhales a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Tell me," he offers.

The shadowy smudges beneath his eyes are particularly deep.

He says in a voice like sticky gravel crunching underfoot, "He threw me into the shelves, but I saw him hurt you." His teeth are still grit. His jaw must be hurting. Possibly in an unconscious gesture, he raises his right hand to press to his own neck, along his throat. A long moment later, he startles at his own touch, eyes widening, mouth finally slackening. His body doesn't so much crumple as entwine around itself, muscles bunching up beneath his clothes.

Joe doesn't say, _I watched him blow you apart,_ because that's not the point.

Instead, he mutters, "He's gone." And he means, _he doesn't matter, you matter_.

Selfishly, he knows that's all that's ever mattered.

He unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth enough to follow it up with, "Come on. Shower. Uninterrupted hot water," he adds, and watches both corners of Nicky's mouth twitch upwards slightly.

"TV later?" Nicky asks him. His shoulders lower infinitesimally, and something rigid unslackens within Joe, something in the vicinity of his heart. Nicky always did know how to mangle it, but, best of it, he's always understood how to stitch it back together.

They smile at each other. The moment dissipates, although Joe's fingertips tingle and twitch; his lips feel swollen, primed. Wordlessly, he leads the way into the bathroom.

Thoroughly enjoying any space where the bathtub won't be drooling blood five minutes into their arrival, as is often the case where their safe houses are concerned, Joe speeds through undressing, dumping everything in a heap onto the closed toilet lid. He leaves his rings on the counter, where they clink around before settling near the sink. Somewhere behind him, Nicky must be unpacking for them. He enjoys having their things spread out _just so_ , within reach for any eventuality.

Busying himself with adjusting the water, he hardly hears Nicky come in, but he does register the door closing and locking. The knobs of his spine quiver, but he pays it no mind, focusing on finding the right pressure and temperature to both their liking. When he finally does, he steps in unceremoniously, and lets the spray catch him in the chest. Truly, he prefers it as close to scalding as humanly possible, but keeps it less so for Nicky's sake.

He listens to Nicky moving about, but, with the water pounding, he can't hear much. Eventually, the ceramic creaks slightly underneath Nicky's bulk. Subsequently, he spins on his heels before Nicky can close in on him, grinning widely at the little look of surprise. Watches it dissolve into an intense focus, from zero to sixty.

In reply, he keeps his grin on, voice rising to be heard over the shower. "Good?" He doesn't know if he's asking about the water or about... before. He doesn't get an answer. Not words, anyway.

Instead, Nicky steps between his legs, feet nudging them farther apart so that they are of a height, noses bumping lightly as they smear their mouths together, his smile melting against Nicky's lips. They both tilt their heads to the side, smoothing the kiss. He allows himself to lean into the wall, the tiles warming at his back. Nicky reaches for him with sure hands to hold the side of his neck where he touched his own before and the small of his back, palm splayed and steadying.

The kiss goes on for a long time, going from comfortable to demanding, Nicky's tongue ending up licking along his until Joe starts sucking on it, and all right, OK, he was unquestionably tired before, but they haven't had either the time or the inclination for more since the fancy hotel in Marrakesh, and his insides have officially turned into a series of sparks, his internal organs stuttering, cock hanging heavy between his thighs in no time at all.

It's Nicky who breaks the kiss to bury his face at the junction of shoulder and neck. Joe lets him. Lets his head loll back. A moment later, he gasps at the feel of blunt teeth, hands going to Nicky's sides. Letting him go, Nicky's palms slap the tiles on either side of his head for leverage as his sharp bite turns to sucking on skin and tendons, deep suction Joe feels in the pit of his stomach and the patch of skin behind his balls and as a warm prickle at the back of his skull.

He swallows a mouthful of saliva. "Is this what we're doing?" he manages to half-groan, reasonably sure the words are _somewhat_ intelligible.

"Uh huh," he hears from Nicky. Or maybe it's twin grunts, no actual words involved. He sucks harder, and a muscle in Joe's right calf spasms from the pressure of standing upright when all he wants is to wrap his legs around Nicky's waist and allow him to bite and suck and mark him up _for hours_.

Then, unprompted, unwanted, Nicky steps back, a sea of space between them, Joe's front suddenly chilled and wanting, his arms hanging limply by his sides. That is, until Nicky, eyes very dark, spins him around and pushes at his shoulders. Crowds him into the wall. He braces his forearms against the tiles, his forehead to the back of one palm, spine arching instinctively. Within moments, Nicky is back between his legs. Then flush to his back. Nicky's skin is warm, so warm, and now slick with water. Against Joe's own skin, he is a furnace.

"Like this," Nicky mutters into his ear. He's panting. Joe feels as if his own breath is going to choke him any moment now.

Pressing in until they're as close as humanly possible, he fits his cock easily between Joe's thighs, who moans at the feel of him, hard and thick, and tightens his legs around him, squeezes until Nicky moans and his hips stutter deliciously. Gentle contact, his forehead pressing to the back of Joe's head, is oddly grounding. He plants his feet solidly and steadies himself for the first thrust, which comes on the heels of Nicky's cock briefly nudging at his hole, an innocent tease of _more, later_.

It's not slick enough to keep the rhythm truly smooth, but the water helps as much as it can. Nicky doesn't seem to care he's probably going to chafe, and, in a way, it doesn't matter, it won't last. And Joe likes the way he's mindlessly fucking his cock against him over and over again, one hand now clenching on the underside of his arse, fingers starfished possessively along the meat of his thigh, the other palming at the opposite side of his chest, arm encircled protectively across it. He's been mouthing at the side of his neck without much respite for so many minutes Joe's lost count. But, after all, he _is_ distracted; every dozen thrusts or so, Nicky rocks forward hard enough Joe's afraid he might lose his balance and topple over this time, though Nicky's arm around him is as sturdy as steel.

Joe's cock is hard enough to pound nails by the time Nicky hand leaves his thigh and snakes forward to grip him firmly. His strokes are languid along the shaft and roughly precise beneath the head. His hips don't stop thrusting, the sound of flesh against flesh echoing inside the small bathroom, nearly eclipsing the sound of water against ceramic.

Barely audible beneath the jet of water, he hears Nicky groan, "Don't," and Joe says, "What?" either too far gone or altogether misunderstanding, but Nicky says, "Don't go," as if—as if Joe would ever let that happen. As if he ever fucking _would_.

"I won't, I won't," he groans, throat closing up around a rough moan, and Nicky squeezes him, thumb flicking at the slit, and then he's tensing and coming onto the tiles, vision blurring as he watches it get washed away by the water.

Even as he thinks he might collapse completely in Nicky's arms, he tightens his thighs and arches his back. He turns his head until he can reach Nicky's mouth and ply his lips open widely, licking inside. That's about all it takes for Nicky's cock to swell that little bit more, balls grinding against Joe's, and for him to come along the inside of his thighs and the shower floor beneath them.

The thing about fancy hotels is how much hot water there truly is. But they've wasted enough of it already, therefore it's no surprise they hurry through actually washing. Trading lazy kisses as the water washes away the soap, Joe tries his best not to yawn too obviously.

He promised Nicky TV time, but, by the time they exit the bathroom in a cloud of steam, both wrapped in thin towels at the waist, it's already nearing sunset, the sun a rosy orange outside their huge windows. Sitting on the edge of the bed to watch the colours playing across the water below, he ends up lying back on his side.

He thinks he hears Nicky ask him about food, and he must reply in the affirmative, but, next thing he knows, he's startled awake by nothing much, nothing he can pinpoint, only it's dark but for the lights from the harbour below lighting up the room. He knows instantly he's naked underneath the cover, his towel kicked by his feet. Both of Nicky's arms are around him, and his chest emanates enough heat he doesn't think he even needs the covers. He burrows back even more, shifting until the arm slung over him fits into the nook of his shoulder, a protective barrier.

He doesn't know if he means to get up and fetch himself water, or wake Nicky for a continuation of before, or perhaps go in search of food, but, before he can formulate a thought, he feels sleep claiming him once more, Nicky's warm exhale at the back of his neck.

**Author's Note:**

> This took approximately... *counts* ...far too long to write for what it is, but I sure do hope someone's enjoyed it.
> 
> As always, if you liked it, please kudos, or comment, or both, or neither. Whatever you're comfortable with. Glad you're still here, honestly. *cries* Stay safe! <3
> 
> Tumblr: [rhubarbdreams](https://rhubarbdreams.tumblr.com/)


End file.
